


The Flowers

by EliDeetz



Series: Ode to Divorce - Series [3]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Inspired by a Regina Spektor song, Language, Post-Divorce, this is a long one sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliDeetz/pseuds/EliDeetz
Summary: She opens her eyes to see darkness, a layer of sweat sticking white bedsheets to her body. There’s a heaviness over her chest that forces her to take a moment to breathe correctly, it’s hard, but she’s been dealing with it for a while now.Practice makes perfect.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale & Reader, Ransom Drysdale & You, Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You
Series: Ode to Divorce - Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888285
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	The Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the final part to my Ode To Divorce series.
> 
> Now while this is officially the last part, I'm keeping the series as incomplete, since there's something I'd like to try with this story. But, that's another story for another day. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading my work, I hope this one is as good as the previous ones!  
> Enjoy!

She opens her eyes to see darkness, a layer of sweat sticking white bedsheets to her body. There’s a heaviness over her chest that forces her to take a moment to breathe correctly, it’s hard, but she’s been dealing with it for a while now.

Practice makes perfect.

The red glow from the digital clock at the nightstand keeps her sight from adjusting to the darkness a little better, but it focuses enough to notice what time it is. Thirteen minutes till 7 a.m., the alarm will start ringing then, so she decides to just get up already.

She feels slightly disoriented, not remembering exactly when she fell asleep the night before, judging by the way her eyes burn and head throbs, she knows it was late. 

There’s already sunlight peeking from underneath the curtains, and she can’t help but feel that childish amazement she felt the first time she realized just how dark the room could stay with the correct set of expensive curtains.

It’s the little things that still get to her, and make her realize she’ll never get used to living a life like this.

Good thing is she doesn’t plan to, even if she has all the means to do so safely kept in a savings account at the bank, and a house that would probably need eight times as many fancy curtains as the room she’s currently staying at has.

With the press of one small button by the bed, the curtains start to open, making a soft whirring sound as the penthouse room fills with light. The colors of the walls and decorations are monochromatic, the smell pristine, the sheets feel brand new. It’s nice, but still a hotel. Not at all cozy or comforting.

She misses her home, and wishes she’d have the strength to go back to it, even for just one night. But she can’t, and hasn’t even dared to drive by and check it out from the outside in a while.

Eight months to be exact.

It’s been eight months since she’s been in her  _ (their) _ house. Cooked in her _ (their)  _ kitchen. Slept on her _ (their) _ bed. Drank a cup of warm peppermint tea on her _ (their) _ porch. Taken a long warm bath in the huge tub he got installed just for her before he even told her he’d bought a house. Woken up to that weight over her being him, perfectly settled and soundly sleeping with his head on her chest.

She chastises herself for thinking about it so much, trying to be grateful, since the one paying for the place she’s staying at is Harlan. 

Harlan.

The thought of him brings a small smile to her face and a tenuous warmth to her heart, just enough to keep surviving. Ever since she expressed her desire to divorce Ransom, he offered his help. The day the papers were signed, and she drove back home to pack a bag without knowing what was her next move in the middle of a breakdown, he’d been the one to help her think everything more clearly, and even found her a place to stay where no one would bother her.

It was surprising to have him on her corner from the get go, considering she divorced who everyone knows is the grandkid closest to him. Some would even go as far to mockingly refer to him as  _ The Favorite. _ So she felt lucky to have him, selflessly taking care of her and supporting her without hesitation, even after all that had happened in half a year.

The day after the party where their tumultuous relationship began, Harlan asked Ransom to accept a position at Blood Like Wine, begging him to help her get Walter off her back after the promotion.  _ A glorified secretary/bodyguard _ was the way Ransom bitterly described the position before rejecting it, to then accept it 8 hours later. But by the time they married, he’d shown enough growth to become his grandfather’s second supervisor, sharing half the responsibilities with her.

When she asked for the divorce, however, Ransom simply stopped showing up to work, his actions speaking loud for his lack of communication skills.

She thought she would lose her job, Walter already preparing for her demise and making sure to find a way to prove to his father he could handle both their positions on his own. But she didn’t, and by the time the divorce was finalized and she needed her space, Harlan had already figured out a way for her to keep working for him without having to step a foot in the publishing house. 

It was complicated, to say the least. An intern would come back and forth into the hotel to leave all the paperwork she’d need for the day, and her computer had access to all the systems and cameras within the company. Harlan and her would talk on the phone when strictly necessary, to talk  _ only _ business.

They both got the hang of it quite fast, and Walter was left to simmer in his defeat. 

When Harlan wanted to check on her, he’d write letters. First just once a week, hoping to respect her time and space, but soon enough, there would be one at the top of her morning paperwork everyday, and she would have a reply ready to be sent before the intern's last trip from her place.

She couldn’t help but feel bad for the intern, running back and forth because she was too much of a coward to face life (and his family) after the divorce. But that guilt wouldn’t last, when one day the intern would have to be replaced by different people everyday.

_ Ransom’s back.  _

The opening line on Harlan’s urgent letter read.

_ Perhaps you already noticed, given your daily workload this morning was half of what you’re used to.  _

_ He just walked in and carried on as usual. I wasn’t notified, no one was. You can guess how Walter reacted, along with how surprised I am. One of our new guards nearly called the cops on him, thinking some stranger had managed to break in and rob the main offices. _

_ If, and only if, you’re okay with it, I’d like to give him a trial week, For I do not know what his intentions are.  _

_ I’m not sure what will come of this, or what he wants, since I haven’t spoken to him, and I have to admit I’m being driven by curiosity. _

_ But, like I said, it’s on you. And regardless of how he performs this week (if given the chance), you just have to say the word and I’ll make sure he stays away from the company, since I still hope you’ll be able to come back and resume your work when you’re ready. _

_ I’ll be patiently waiting on your response. Despite this unexpected situation, do place your priorities on your job. Walter is already making sure Ransom is not just around to cause a mess, even though I did not ask him. _

_ Harlan. _

She already knew he was back, and had her own suspicions about Ransom’s intent. 

That morning, after a long night of not sleeping again, she felt a need to check the cameras. It was early, and knew no one would be inside the building, yet still kept on browsing them, not really knowing what she was looking for. But then she saw him, sharply dressed and visibly decided as he walked to his office.

Ransom sat in his office for a while, checking his computer and perusing the files he’d left behind when he stopped showing, until it was time for everyone else to arrive. She watched what she presumed was the fight with Walter, and, after everyone had arrived, she noticed him walking by her office, carefully but surely peeking inside of it.

Throughout the day she watched him do nothing but work, every now and then taking a lap around the offices, specifically hers.

He was looking for her, she was sure of it. Later at night, when the intern came for his last pick up, her response to Harlan’s letter was ready, as usual. 

_ I could use the help. _

That was it, and a week later Ransom was back on his position with his grandfather's approval. Blood like Wine didn’t take long to go back to the dynamic it previously had, and even better, since everything on Ransom’s side had nearly doubled its productivity within the first month, matching what she’d accomplished with hers.

Soon enough, all of Harlan’s letters would talk about him at least once.

_ He avoids talking about you and your involvement at the company. It’s almost funny to see him stumble with his own words as he tries to guide me through his work around you. _

She laughed at the mental image of Ransom struggling to speak. It hurt to think he probably couldn’t stomach her name.

_ There was a fight at dinner last night, Linda made a comment that he didn’t like and keyed her new van as he left. _

She wondered what their fight was about, but couldn’t find the courage to ask.

_ I went to a library to do research for a new book, he offered to drive me and stayed. We read together in silence, and didn’t fight once. _

That was unusual, but she was happy for them.

_ He mentioned you by name for the first time today. _

She didn’t reply to that, just the rest of the letter.

_ Ransom asked about you. I didn't tell him anything about where you are, just that you're alive. But if you'd like me to, I could come up with an elaborate plot about your sudden death as a joke. _

She considered it. Too cruel, or was it? They didn’t carry on with it.

_ We had dinner together alone on Saturday, like old times. I was surprised to find out he can’t handle his whiskey like he used to.  _

_ Said he misses you. _

She tried not to, but after that time she’d look at the cameras when a part of her finally admitted to miss him. All he did was his job, and damn, was he improving and visibly trying his hardest to make up for his absence. Every time, without missing, once everyone was supposed to have arrived, he would take a glance towards her office.

_ I think he figured out how paperwork gets to you. I will be sending different interns everyday to you, as a preventive measure. I don’t want him pulling off something that could upset you. _

Something told her Ransom wouldn’t simply show, not after what happened at the coffee shop. She didn’t know why she was so certain that he would respect her choice, but she was.

Still, a little after he figured out how they communicated, Harlan stopped writing so often about him. And the flowers began.

One morning, the intern of the day arrived with her paperwork, Harlan’s letter, and a bouquet of freshly picked flowers. She assumed they were from Harlan, but the letter made it clear they weren’t. Apparently Ransom had asked him to have them delivered, his reasoning behind accepting being that maybe that would keep him from looking for her, and that she could use something to bring some life into the penthouse.

_ You could also set them on fire and mail the ashes back to him.  _

Another great idea from the patriarch of the Thrombey family, part of her realized that’s where Ransom had inherited his pettiness.

Soon enough, she would get flowers every two days, not even giving a chance to the prior ones to wilt. The days when the messenger didn’t come by, they would be waiting for her at the reception desk, always delivered through Harlan.

But one day they stopped, and Harlan didn’t acknowledge it in his letters.

It was weird, almost off putting. She found herself considering writing what she wanted to ask, why did he stop? Had he grown tired of trying? Did he still talk about her? Ask about her? Miss her? Was he seeing someone else now?

But she didn’t mention it either, convinced that, whatever Harlan’s reason was, it was enough.

She blinks twice as she keeps staring outside the window in front of the bed, and checks the clock to see how long she spaced out. It’s 8:42 a.m., and the intern that’s supposed to have arrived hasn’t.

The woman quickly leaps out of bed, snatching her robe from one of the chairs in the room to check the hall. Perhaps someone did come and she was so distracted she didn’t even hear it. 

She then notices her alarm didn’t go off, which is odd, and when she checks her phone for any lost calls or messages that she realizes it’s a Saturday. No one is coming.

A heavy sigh of relief leaves her chest, as she sits on the floor in the middle of the suite. Her mind has been so occupied with everything that she no longer feels time passing. Laughter bubbles from her chest. 

It’s not funny.

She bites her lip as she glances around the room, and after a moment of wandering, her eyes finally focus on something. At the table next to the entrance door, there’s a vase, and inside of it sits the last bouquet of flowers Ransom sent her. 

It was an arrangement of white tulips and purple hyacinths, by far one of the simplest ones he’d sent her. They were beautiful, fresh and vibrant. Some of the bulbs hadn’t opened quite fully, so she took care of them to the best of her abilities to make sure they did. But just one of them bloomed, the rest died along with the rest of the arrangement. 

By now, they are completely dried and rotting, and she refuses to throw them away.

What if they’re the last thing she’ll ever get from him?

The fleeting thought is enough to bring tears to her eyes. All the conflicting emotions she’s tried her hardest to repress since she stopped hearing from him clashing with each other as she sits alone on the carpeted floor.

She misses Ransom, hasn’t stopped doing so since they signed the papers and she left. But he’s… Ransom, and she knows he’s complicated. No matter how many flowers he sends, or how hard he works, or what changes Harlan seems to notice in his behaviour, it’s not enough for her to know what’s going on inside his brain.

Something changed in him, that’s for sure, but they haven’t seen each other in so long she has no idea what it is, or where they stand. The flowers never come with notes or letters, he never tries to call or look for her, which she’s thankful for, because communication with him would make things harder. Still, the lack of it certainly doesn’t make them any easier.

He’s been more than helpful at the company, respectful of her space and the way she’s choosing to live her life, if anyone can call it that. But then that small detail that let her know he was constantly thinking of her was taken away, and she has no idea why.

A loud, repetitive tone coming from her phone startles her, forcing her back to reality once again. She checks to see what it is, and it’s surprised to find a reminder from her calendar.

**_Harlan’s Birthday._ **

She nearly chokes on her own saliva, trying to comprehend how she managed to completely forget about it. Harlan hasn’t stopped mentioning it since the month began, sent her the invitation to the party as soon as they were ready, and she even bought his gift two weeks ago, so it could arrive at his house on time, as an apology to her absence.

Before she knows it, she’s calling him, hoping he’ll pick up instead of ignoring his phone like he usually does when it’s not working hours.

_ “Hi?” _ A timid, sweet voice comes from the other side of the line, it’s Marta.  _ “(Y/N)?” _ The woman can hear her surprise. Staying away from Ransom and the company meant staying away from  _ everyone _ involved, so she hasn’t seen or talked with her either.

“Marta, hi. How you been?” She feels guilty for not keeping up with her, since she had nothing to do with it.

_ “I’m fine, fine. How are you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I thought you died.”  _ Her voice starts shaking, like she’s about to start crying any moment now.  _ “¿Qué son esas cosas de desaparecer sin avisar? ¿Así te criaron en tu casa?”  _ It’s refreshing to hear how her tone shifts as she takes a moment to chew her out.

“Perdóname, it’s a long story,” she chuckles, wondering why she avoided talking to her all this time.

_ “I can imagine,”  _ the girl simply says. God bless her, never prying on matters that don't involve her.  _ “What's up? Did you need Harlan?”  _

“Yeah, could you put him on the phone? I want to say happy birthday.”

A hum is her reply, and some random noises on the phone later Harlan picks up.  _ “Blood like Wine publishing house, this is Bilbo Baggins speaking.” _

She chuckles softly at his mock greeting, he’s in a good mood. “Good morning Mr. Baggins, this is Diamond, from your local Dance Club for Fine Gentlemen. Just calling to confirm the 85 strippers for one Harlan Thrombey’s birthday party.”

_ “Ah, yes. I’ve been waiting for your call, you see. I was hoping to offer you a deal?” _

“I’m listening.”

_ “I was hoping to trade the 85 lovely ladies for the company of just one. She doesn’t work for you but perhaps you could help me convince her.”  _ Harlan’s tone is still playful, but she knows he’s being serious. 

Silence suddenly engulfs the line, as she takes a sharp breath in. So far he hadn’t asked her to attend, not even after the invitation was sent. This is the most direct request she’s going to get from him, since he knows the extent of her boundaries even better than herself.

_ “What did she say?”  _ She can faintly hear Marta ask, making her realize she hasn’t said a thing in a while.

Harlan’s response is more silence.

“I...” Her voice dies, so she keeps quiet a bit longer.

She can see something move from the corner of her eye, a dry petal from the now dirty and brownish tulips falls to the floor, demanding her entire attention. Her heart skips a beat, and her mouth moves before she can process it.

“I’ll definitely see what I can do, Mr. Baggins.”

* * *

“Take this exit, take it,” she says out loud, completely alone inside her car.

Her hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel so hard, her heart is pounding inside her chest, and her brain is racing faster than her vehicle is. She’s been driving for over an hour, the first half of her trip crossing the distance between her place and Harlan’s house, and the rest just going in circles trying to bring herself to actually arrive.

The roads are wet, so she’s trying to drive as carefully as she can, the robotic GPS voice recalibrating and changing the route options to Harlan’s every so often.

She doesn’t know what possessed her to go all the way over there, but here she is, sharply dressed and talking herself into driving back to the hotel instead. The old man’s soft voice resonates in her ears as she makes a U-turn back to town, and she’s once again obeying the voice to find a way to turn back around. 

The GPS is suddenly interrupted by a text notification from an unknown number.

_ Your package has been delivered. _

“Shit,” she mumbles. The gift got there before she did, and it has a card, deeply apologizing for not being able to show.

That’s it, she has to go, get there as quickly as she can before he can see the card and make him experience a moment of disappointment, however miniscule it might be. He doesn’t deserve that from her, and she has to stop being a coward.

With a newfound courage at hand, she hits the gas and ignores every single exit offering a way out, swiftly making the turn into the Thrombey estate. Her mind seems to go blank as her entire body moves in automatic, skillfully driving through the narrow, muddy road to the house, and before she knows it, she’s parking wherever there’s available space.

Everyone seems to be there already. The dogs are outside, quickly spotting her. When she gets out of her car, instead of barking like they used to when she arrived by her ex-husband’s side, they start whimpering, happily overwhelmed after not seeing her in over 8 months.

They throw themselves at her feet, begging to be pet, so she carefully kneels down to do so, balancing her entire weight in the new heels she bought just for the party. One of the dogs attempts to lick her face, placing his paws over one of her shoulders. The movement it’s so sudden she nearly falls to the side, only to find support from a familiar white car.

It’s Ransom’s.

“No one knows you’re here yet,” the thought finds its way out of her lips.

She shakes her head, hoping those intrusive thoughts will exit from her ears like a cartoon character. 

The dogs cry when she finally stands, circling her legs as she walks towards the main door, growing significantly anxious at who’s gonna open the door when she rings the bell. Her hand shakes when she finally finds the strength to press the small white button, and is able to hear how the loud conversations die down after the sound it makes.

“Coming!” It’s Fran who yells.

A heavy sigh leaves her chest, silently thanking the heavens that it’s not anyone from the family that happened to be near the entrance. 

“Oh my God,” she tries to whisper when she sees her standing outside, but it comes out too loud. Fran is quick to pull her into a bone-crushing hug, whispering how glad she is to see her, and that she decided to come. 

Harlan’s mother is sitting right next to the entrance, letting the hors d'oeuvre fall from her hand into her plate as she seems to recognize her. “Ransom, your wife is here,” she sweetly says, a smile slowly painting over her face.

“Hi great nana,” she can’t bring herself to correct her. No one heard that anyways.

“Come, come! He’s gonna be so thrilled to see you,” Fran pushes her into the living room, not giving her a chance to hug Wanetta. “Harlan, it’s for you.” The housekeeper says excitedly.

All the things she’d planned to say completely disappear from her mind as she’s met with the eyes of the entire Thrombey clan. There’s nothing but disgust in the majority of their faces, except for four of them; Harlan’s smile so big he looks like he’s on morphine, Marta’s soft and welcoming eyes, Meg’s stoned and surprised expression, and Ransom’s, whose blue eyes are open so wide they might pop from their sockets.

“Good afternoon, sorry to disturb.”  _ I know it’s a family event only. _ The rest of her sentence is left unsaid, aware of what everyone is probably thinking.

“You should be,” Jacob’s quiet voice comes from the corner of the room, his phone so close to his face it almost hits his nose.

Everyone ignores him, except for Linda, who scoffs as she clearly attempts not to laugh. She tries her best not to stare at anyone in particular, her eyes traveling from one Thrombey another as she waits. 

“Did you need anything?” Linda asks after taking a moment to toughen her voice. “It's a… little late to be doing house calls, don't you think?” Venom drips for her voice, her entire semblance immediately hostile.

It's no secret Linda has always disliked her, for several reasons, the most recent one being the hard time she gave her  _ poor baby _ with the divorce (that she claims saw coming from the very beginning).

“(Y/N), we're in the middle of a  _ family  _ reunion.” Walter immediately follows, approaching her slowly as if trying to move her into another room. “You could've sent me a message if you needed anything.”

Her eyes move from Walter to Harlan, and almost immediately after, towards Ransom. She watches him fidget in his seat, his now bearded jaw visibly clenching, and his knuckles turning white as his hand curls into a tight fist.

“That's enough,” his grandfather finally says, standing up with Marta's help. “It  _ is  _ a family reunion, that's why I invited her. Come dear, give me my hug and have a drink.”

His word is final, she can tell by the way everyone immediately shut their mouths.

She avoids any direct eye contact with anyone else that isn’t Harlan as she crosses the living room to meet him. His smile seems to have gotten wider, if possible, and he welcomes her with open arms before she can say anything else. 

He smells like coffee and pine, and the peacefulness his embrace brings is so familiar she continues to ask herself why she left for so long.

“Happy birthday, Harlan.” Her voice is soft and quiet, trying to keep herself together and not cry in front of his family.

“It is now, dear,” Harlan says sincerely, continuing to smile as they finally separate. “Your present was more punctual with your gift, how does that work?”

“I bought it weeks ago,” is all she says.

“Bueno pues, ¿dormimos juntas o qué?” Marta jumps from his seat, eager for a hug of her own. “Harlan you better fix her contract at the company, add a clause that forces her to call me at least once a week.”

The three of them laugh, while the rest of the family tries their best to carry on with their conversations, despite their evident opposition to Harlan’s guest.

“That won’t be necessary, I promise I’ll text. I just thought…” 

“I know,” the pretty nurse smiles, holding her hands and giving her a small squeeze in reassurance. “Those who love you get it.”

“Excuse me.” Ransom suddenly mutters, as he stands from his seat to exit the living room, avoiding everyone’s gazes. 

(Y/N) freezes, immediately tensing up at the sudden reminder that he was mere inches from her. The scent of his perfume lingers in the air as he walks past her, and she has to take a slow, silent breath after it’s gone. It’s hard, but she manages not to turn and stare as he walks away.

“Ransom?” His mother’s voice raises, urgency and concern in her tone.

“I’m just going to the bathroom, calm down Linda.” He’s quick to say, and she’s surprised at the lack of both curse words in his reply, and anger in his voice.

He seems just fine.

“Come then, sit down. Let’s talk, sweetheart.”

Her focus comes back to Harlan and Marta, who are now urging her to sit where Ransom was.

It doesn’t take her long to find herself comfortable at the party. After a couple drinks and conversations with the people she missed the most, she finds herself laughing and actually having a good time. Dinner’s been served and Harlan’s cake has been cut, so now everyone is simply drinking the house down. There’s no need for them to go back home, since everyone is staying the night.

She should really stop drinking, however, considering she’s the only one who won’t.

But she’s enjoying herself. All her fears and anxieties are mostly gone, and the glares and silent comments directed towards her at the beginning of the night have completely stopped by now. She thinks the champagne might be taking a toll on her already, since a part of her is convinced the one behind it is Ransom. Who has not stopped jumping from one conversation to another, usually asking them to repeat themselves or even speak louder, inevitably forcing them to change the subject. 

The last time it happened was about an hour ago, before Fran pulled her into a conversation about this Brazillian guy she met while she was gone, who happens to have a beautiful, muscular, and tanned younger brother that could be just _ perfect  _ for her.

(Y/N) is trying her best to focus on the long and detailed description Fran is giving her, but she can’t. It’s useless to deny she hasn’t been able to even think about meeting another man since the divorce. But Fran doesn’t need to know that, not when she’s too excited about the possibility of a blind/double date between them.

“And I’m telling you, he’s super nice and respectful. I don’t know how they raise their kids in Brazil, but these two? Out of a  _ freaking _ fairy tale.”

There’s no denial the man sounds lovely, but again, all she can think about right now is the one incessantly walking around the party. 

He hasn’t tried to approach her since she arrived, which makes her feel confused. There’s so much she wants to say and ask, but a part of her thinks he’s trying his best to avoid her without completely fleeting the party. It’s his grandfather's birthday, after all, and judging by Harlan’s letters, their relationship is now better than ever. 

Maybe that being the only reason he hasn’t left just yet.

“Speak of the Devil, I’ll be back,” Fran says as she picks up her phone, and walks towards the kitchen to take her call with a newfound excitement.

(Y/N) allows herself to take a look around the room. As per usual, Meg’s already gone, her mother having the time of her life dancing next to the fireplace by herself. It’s painful to watch, considering the rest of the guests are doing their best to look away.

Linda is talking to Walter and Donna, presumably about work. That’s all they ever talked about when she attended their parties and events as Ransom’s wife. Sometimes it seems as if that’s the only reason they speak to each other at all.

Their kid Jacob is by the stairs, texting his life away, while Marta sits by Wanetta sharing a comfortable silence. She considers joining them, but then she feels the need to look to the one place she’d been avoiding. 

Her eyes travel from Marta and great nana to Harlan and then,  _ finally _ , towards Ransom.

He’s staring right back at her.

She feels a shiver run down her spine, and tries her hardest to look away from his piercing blue eyes. But she can’t, and it seems like he doesn’t plan to stop looking at her either.

Ransom’s gaze is enthralling. Hell, it always has been. With baby blue eyes and long brown eyelashes, her knees never failed to go weak whenever he looked at her. It’d been so long she doubted it would be the same, but it is. 

That beard he let grow isn’t helping at all, either. It fits him so well, making him seem much more mature and reserved. Ransom looks nothing like the young man she married, and she wonders if it’s the frown he’s looking at her with, the dark beard on his face, or perhaps how his eyes seem to shine differently from how they used to.

After what feels like an eternity he finally looks away, his attention suddenly being demanded by something Harlan said. He takes one last final glance at her, his features softening, and then focuses back on his grandfather.

* * *

“Harlan, I need to give you your meds.” Marta begs for the umpteenth time, taking him by the arm and trying to take him upstairs.

“But if I go she’ll leave!” He says, gesturing towards (Y/N).

“No, no. Don’t even try to use me as an excuse,” she’s quick to reply, smiling while supporting his nurse, knowing the hard time he gives her sometimes. “Come on, you gotta take your stuff.”

“It’ll put me to sleep, and then you’ll be gone again.” There’s a ridiculous pout on his face, it makes her laugh at his melodramatic performance.

Marta looks at her with pleading eyes, knowing he won’t bulge until he gets like he wants.

“Listen, I’ll make you a deal. What if you go up, let Marta give you your meds and then I’ll join you both upstairs ‘till you fall asleep. How’s that sound?”

He thinks it over for a moment, looking between the two of them staring at him with large doe eyes. “Throw in a game of Go!,” he says as he points at Marta. “And, you won’t leave until Marta does.”

The women share a glance, as if silently communicating what they think about his terms. After a small moment they both nod, and then smile at him. “Deal,” they say in unison.

He gets up from his seat and quickly heads upstairs, a shit eating grin over his face. (Y/N) stops at the bottom of the stairs, suddenly overwhelmed by the entire night that she dreaded.

By then everyone is in their rooms, except Walter who's outside having one of those cigars everyone in the house hates, and Ransom, who apparently left without anyone noticing.

“Hey, I’m gonna step outside real quick. Call me when you’re done so I can join you in Harlan’s room?” She asks Marta, who is quick to grow wary of her request.

“You’re not gonna leave us hanging just now, are you?” She asks seriously.

“No, I promise. I just need some air,” (Y/N) chuckles at the sweet nurse’s attempt to be menacing.

“Okay then, I’ll come get you once Harlan is in bed. Also, go to the back, Walter is up front.” Her voice is low as she warns her, quickly catching up to the old man who’s already upstairs.

(Y/N) looks towards the front door, noticing a trail of smoke going up to the sky, so she turns around on her heels and walks to the back door, desperate to feel the cold winter air in her lungs. 

She carefully opens the door, hoping the dogs won’t hear her go outside, needing just a moment for her to relax. The sky is full of stars and grey dark clouds, threatening to start raining or snowing anytime soon.

_ It's all over, _ she thinks, closing her eyes and letting the silence take her in.

“(Y/N).”

A loud gasp leaves her lips, and she almost trips with her own feet as she quickly turns around. Her heart starts beating rapidly, both from the surprise, and from already knowing who's the one who called her.

Sitting on the patio chairs, beneath the shadows, Ransom emerges, an apologetic look on his face. He holds his hands up, as if surrendering to someone. His brows are nearly touching his hairline, cheeks and nose red from the cold.

He looks ridiculous, and she'd laugh if she wasn't so suddenly nervous.

“Jesus, Ransom.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I–” He lets out a deep breath, standing from his seat. “You look like you want to be alone and I don't wanna bother you.”

He knows her better than anyone, she remembers.

Whenever the parties became too much for her to handle, they would always step outside. Sometimes he'd let her go out by herself, when he also happened to be guilty that the mood at the parties turned too hostile to bear.

She has one hand over her chest, as if trying her heart from beating out her chest, too dumbfounded to say anything. Ransom's expression changes to a more serious one, almost ashamed. One she'd never seen before on him.

“I’ll leave, sorry.”

That's two apologies in a row, and she doesn't even think before she finally speaks: “You don't have to.” 

_ Please don't. _

He seems to swallow harshly, and simply nods as he remains frozen in his spot, his hands falling back to his sides.

“You were here first,  _ I’ll _ go–”

“I don't want you to.”

His honesty takes her aback, forcing her to take a second to process this entire moment. He's staring at her, brushing a hand through his beard while waiting for her response.

So she stays.

They're both quiet, no longer looking at each other. There's a tension in the air that wasn't there a moment ago, yet it's not uncomfortable, just unknown.

The memory of the day their relationship began hits her like a punch, causing her to start fidgeting in place. It's too much, and she can't find within herself the strength to speak or leave.

“I thought you left,” she finally says, her eyes completely focused on the ground.

“I…” He hesitates to answer, seemingly surprised she's talking to him. “Guess I had too much to drink,” Ransom admits quietly. “I either have to sober up or sleep in Harlan's study.”

She can't help but chuckling, not missing the way he looks at her curiously. “I think this is the first time I've heard you admit you had too much to drink.”

“And not willing to drive home intoxicated?” he adds, a teasing smirk growing on his face. She nods, turning away to keep herself from looking into his eyes once again. “Yeah, been a while since I've done something stupid.”

“I doubt that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest at her response, grunting while trying his best to keep himself from smiling. 

“Sorry. I think I had a little too much to drink myself.”

Ransom relaxes, and takes a tentative step towards her, his eyes like daggers against her side. When she doesn't move away, he takes a second one, cutting the distance between them in half.

“I’m glad you're here.”

She looks at him, once again letting herself get lost in his eyes. There's a knot in her throat that won't allow her to speak, and even if she could, she doesn't really know what to say.

“You look good,” she admits quietly, as if talking to herself rather than him.

“Bullshit.” 

She frowns, meeting his eyes silently wondering why he says so. 

“I look like shit. You're the one who looks great.”

A soft smile tugs the corners of her lips, equally amused and weirded out by his behaviour. “I said good, not great.”

He laughs, and it's so honest and unreserved, she can't ignore the warmth spreading through her body. She's missed him, more than she's prepared to admit right now.

Another silence makes its way between them, more comfortable than the one before. Ransom shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, and bashfully looks down at his feet.

“(Y/N).” Her name softly falls from his lips, hesitantly, as if she will disappear or run away scared if he talks too loud. She simply blinks in response, waiting for whatever he wants to say. “I missed you.”

Bastard. 

She's not fully convinced he's not aware of what he's doing to her.

“Tell me if I'm overstepping, and I'll stop. But there's so much I wanted to say when I saw you again, and now I'm fucking struggling to find the right words to do so.” 

He brushes a hand through his hair, it's longer than before, yet still perfectly combed. Now that they're closer she can notice a couple of grey hairs near his sideburns, making her wonder if age is the reason behind them. She knows hers are definitely not because of  _ that _ .

“It's fine,” she croaks, quickly clearing her throat before continuing. “I'm… how have you been?” Is the only thing she can think to ask.

“It's complicated.” Ransom admits, sitting back down and glancing at the seat next to him, silently inviting her to join. “It's been hard. I know I fucked up and it seems like life wanted to show me just how bad.”

“I'm sorry,” she says sincerely, sitting next to him, careful not to make any contact. 

“Don't be, I fucking earned it,” he laughs bitterly, taking a deep sigh and looking up to the sky. “I fucked everything up, and even when I was aware of what I was doing, I didn't stop.”

She keeps quiet, letting him vent to try and understand what's going on inside his mind.

“Do you want to hear this?” He asks, clearly having a hard time letting himself be vulnerable. “You don't have to, but I really want to apologise and I need you to believe I'm  _ really _ fucking trying to be honest here–”

“I do,” she's quick to reply. “Say what you want to say.”

He takes a sharp breath in, focusing on his hands before continuing. “After we signed the divorce I felt terrible, but I didn't let myself accept it. So I just tried to carry on with the life I had before I met you.”

(Y/N) wants to feel surprised, but can't. Part of her always felt Ransom regretted their marriage because he missed the life he used to have. Something she never said out loud.

“It went terribly,” that she didn't expect. “It's not what I needed anymore, not even what I wanted. I'd changed without even noticing, but it was all I ever knew before you. So, I just kept drinking myself stupid so I wouldn't miss you.”

Ransom turns to look at her, waiting to see if she has anything to say before he goes on. And she does, but everything he's putting out in the open has her speechless once more.

“I nearly got into an accident once or twice–” He holds a hand up in the air, asking for a moment before she can't say anything– “I didn't, but I did end up arrested once. After bailing me out, Harlan sent me to therapy,” he continues, raising a brow while expecting her reaction. She fails to seem unfazed, and it makes him laugh again. “At first I just went so he'd leave me alone, but after a couple of weeks I was already feeling… different.”

He plays with the ring he always wears on his pinky finger, causing her to look at his hands. She tries not to react when noticing that, in his right hand, he's wearing his wedding band.

“Then I came back to the company, my therapist suggested it. Figuring that, while you took your time, I could help you by easing the workload I left behind.” 

“Everyone thought you were up to something,” she mentions, a small smile on her lips.

“Yeah, I noticed. Walter would report to Harlan up to how many fucking times I peed a day.” Now she's the one laughing, feeling a familiarity settle down between them. “I'm serious, he was certain I would go to the bathroom to drink. As if I was a fucking alcoholic,” his tone is serious but there's a smile on his face.

“But you do have a drinking problem,” she jokes.

“ _ Had _ . I  _ had _ a drinking problem,” he corrects, the smile suddenly gone. “Don't look at me like that,” Ransom begs, once her laugh dies down and her face turns somber. “I did have a problem with alcohol, and even drugs. It was hard for me to accept, but Dr. Callahan, my therapist, helped me a lot with that. And so did Harlan.”

“I could tell you got closer,” her voice is soft as she recalls the letters. “He seemed very happy, I'm glad you two are better. He loves you a lot, you know?”

“I do. Don't know where I would be right now without him.”

Another silence, comforting, heavy with emotion. They're both taking a moment to process everything that's being said.

“So, you're better now?” It's her who finally interrupts the small moment of contemplation.

Ransom's brows shoot up, and he takes a long breath before replying, “Yeah, you can say that. I'm fine, focused on trying to become a better version of myself. Right now I'm just happy to see you.” He admits sheepishly.

She doesn't miss the way his cheeks turn a brighter red, making her heart skip a beat. “I was surprised you didn't go looking for me,” she admits.

“I wanted to, but I didn't know what to do after the last time we met. I knew I'd hurt you, not just then but ever since I came into your life.” His jaw clenches, and she wants to say that isn't true.

At least not  _ entirely _ true.

“Both Harlan and Dr. Callahan suggested I didn't. So I knew I was in the right, respecting your choice, but still I couldn't help but wonder… Was I wrong not to?” He asks, mostly to himself.

“No,” she's quick to say, it surprises her. “I'm actually kinda glad you didn't.”

Ransom nods slowly, taking a second to absorb that thought. 

“Would it be ok for me to ask...” (Y/N) starts to say, but her voice dies down, the rest of the question lingering in the air.

“Ask what?” 

(Y/N) shrugs, her eyes back on the ground. “More.”

He nods, nervous and impatient. “You can ask me anything you want. I feel like I owe you that much… and then some more.” Ransom smiles.

“Why did you marry me?” His eyes open so wide it's almost comical, but she doesn't laugh. “You said you had this whole life you were used to before me. I knew that, so when you  _ told _ me to marry you, I couldn't understand why.”

He represses a smirk at the way she says he  _ told _ her to marry him _ ,  _ because that's exactly how it went.

One day after work, almost a year after he  _ told _ her to move in with him, he came home later than her. As usual she didn't ask why, which worked on his favor to keep his entire plan a secret.

They'd ordered from her favorite chinese food place, and she was already in the living room, cozily sprawled across the largest couch. Her hair was wet from the shower, and her pajamas were fresh out of the dryer.

Just as she was about to dive into some noodles, he threw a small velvet box over her lap, and sat down next to her as he snatched the white carton box from her hands.

A loud gasp left her lips, along with a breathless  _ “Ransom, what the hell is this?” _

_ “Marry me,”  _ was all he said.

Both the question and the memory hit him like a punch, making him sit back to take it in. “Because I love you,” it's the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Then he frowns and clears his throat, “I  _ loved _ you, and I wanted you. I never knew how to treat you right, and I was too afraid to ask anything from you in fear you would deny it.  _ And _ I was terrified you'd leave me. So I figured, if we married, you never would.”

(Y/N)'s brows nearly rise up to her hairline, a great part of their entire relationship suddenly making a lot of sense. “All you ever did was take from me,” she mutters.

Ransom sighs, another punch, right in the stomach. He brushes a hand over his beard again, trying to relieve some tension from his jaw. “I know… I'm  _ so _ fucking sorry, (Y/N).” His voice cracks, so he takes a moment before speaking again. “My biggest mistake was never asking you what you wanted, I would've given you  _ anything _ you asked for.”

“Even the bimmer?”

And just like that he's laughing again, sniffling and choking back the tears that had suddenly threatened to fall. “Let's not start wondering what could've been or what I would've done, shall we? Que sera, sera.” He jokes, trying his best to make her feel as comfortable as she's trying to get him feel.

“But honestly, even the bimmer,” Ransom admits after he's done laughing.

She smiles at him, and it's honest. But then a small thought resurfaces from the back of her mind, wiping the smile away.

“What is it?” he quickly asks, not missing her change of demeanor.

“The flowers.”

“What about them?” His voice makes a weird change of pitch, nearly making him stutter.

“You tell me,” she simply says.

“Well.. when I figured out Harlan knew where you were, and I decided I wouldn't go looking for you just yet, I needed a way to let you know I was still here. Waiting.” He harshly rubs his eyes, pressing his fingers into them as embarrassment washes over him. “That's so fucking corny to admit outloud. Fuck, I'm sorry.” He scoffs, as a failed attempt to laugh.

Her heart is doing leaps again, and she has to start focusing on her respirations to not start crying all of a sudden.

“Don't be," she pleads, her cheeks burning from her body heating up again all of a sudden.

“Did you like them?” She nods. “Were they too much?” A shake of her head as a reply. “I considered sending them everyday, Callahan told me not to, said that I should've asked before I started sending them.” She softly frowns. “What is it?”

“Did he, your therapist, tell you to stop?”

Ransom's curious face turns into a frown, similar to hers, if not much harsher. His mouth falls open as he blinks repeatedly, like what came of her mouth was some gibberish in an ancient, unknown language.

“No? What do you mean stop?” He's as confused as her, and it makes her hesitate for a moment.

“Ransom, I haven't gotten anything from you in 3 weeks.”

They both sit in silence, staring at each other as if trying to see if one of them is lying. But then Ransom looks back, up to the second floor, where the hall near Harlan's room is.

“You don't think–” She starts to say, once she catches where his mind is going.

“All I'm gonna say, is  _ I  _ never stopped wiring him the money to buy the arrangements.” His word is final, and she can't help but laugh at how similar he is to his grandfather. 

Her laughter starts slowly, quiet, but soon enough it starts growing loud and almost hysterical. She puts a hand over her mouth, trying to keep herself from being even louder.

“(Y/N)–”

“I thought… ever since they stopped I thought,” she's struggling to speak, afraid that what she's about to admit will sound stupid. “I thought you stopped because you gave up. Because you didn't love me anymore,” her laugh finally turns into sobs, and before she knows it, she's crying.

Ransom moves to kneel in front of her, and calls her name softly, carefully taking her face between his hands to force her to look at him. There's nothing but concern in his expression, and he's finding it hard not to start crying too.

“Please, look at me.  _ Please _ ,” he begs quietly, softly brushing away her tears with his thumbs. When she finally does, he tries his best to smile as genuinely as he can, “I have  _ never _ stopped loving you. I don't think I ever will.”

“Seriously?” She asks between sobs, hiccuping quietly.

He nods, delicately brushing some stray hairs away from her face. “I never lied to you, and I don't plan to start doing so anytime soon.”

A sigh of relief leaves her chest, and she places one hand over his, squeezing it lightly. Her lips part to say something else, but the backdoor suddenly opens, making both of them turn around to see who it is.

“Sorry, I… Harlan is nearly falling asleep,” Marta says quietly, visibly blushing like a tomato. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” (Y/N) assures, as Ransom stands up and moves away, shoving his hands back into his pockets. 

“Sorry for keeping her.”

“I'll be right there, okay?” (Y/N) stands from her seat, wiping her face and smiling as sincerely as she possibly can. “Just a minute.”

The nurse nods, and quickly goes back into the house. (Y/N) turns to Ransom, catching him breathing rhythmically, as if calming himself down. He seems upset, she wonders if it is because he also feels the night coming to an end.

“I have to go or he'll never let me forget I left him hanging on his birthday,” she says, and he simply nods. 

“Thank you for coming,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet. She doesn't understand his sudden change of demeanor, wondering what went wrong in the last 60 seconds. But then he speaks up, “I know you have your way of working things out but, if you want, could you let me know you're alive every now and then? Just tell Harlan you… said hi or something.”

His request is shy and low, and he can't bring himself to look at her in the eye as he asks for this. (Y/N) feels something stir inside of her, and before she can process what's happening with her body, she's crossing the distance between them, carefully throwing her arms around his neck.

She feels his body go stiff, to then immediately relax and melt into her embrace. Ransom buries his face in the crook of her neck, circling her waist with his arms, and breathes in deeply, as if trying to burn her scent into his lungs forever.

“I'll see you next week at work, Ransom,” she says as they finally separate, turning around and heading back to the house.

Before she closes the door behind her, she glances over her shoulder, watching how his expression seems to go through a thousand different emotions. 

“Not if I see you first,” he hurries to reply, managing to earn one last smile from her.

And that's all the hope he needs.


End file.
